


Caring for Charlie

by roanniom



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Age gap (reader is over 21), Boss/Employee Relationship, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, F/M, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roanniom/pseuds/roanniom
Summary: After years of working with, and secretly pining for, Charlie, all of your attention and care is finally rewarded.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	Caring for Charlie

You shouldn’t want Charlie Barber.

This is a mantra you chant to yourself twenty times a day. You tell this to yourself during your morning shower, as your hands run over your body and you ache, wishing they were his hands. His large, dinner plate-sized hands that you’ve memorized from rehearsals where you’ve watched them gesticulate, grasp, and curl into passionate fists as he expresses himself to his cast and crew.

You tell yourself you shouldn’t want Charlie Barber as you get ready for the day, trying to silence the internal questions – would Charlie like this skirt? Does Charlie prefer heels or flats? Would Charlie like this perfume? Standing before your bedroom mirror you practice bending down, watching fabric inch up the back of your thighs or flutter around your hips, trying to imagine what Charlie would see and if the view would be worthy of his attention.

You remind yourself you shouldn’t want Charlie Barber when you hand him his mid-morning coffee and he dramatically mimes relief, groaning inwardly and throwing his head back in exaggerated pleasure after taking that first piping hot sip. He thanks you and winks over the cup as he takes his second deep pull of the drink and you can’t help but think that you want him to drink you up too. You want to liquify and be consumed. Touch his lips and warm his body, stoke a fire and wake him up.

But you shouldn’t want Charlie Barber.

The reasons that accompany your mantra are numerous and you do your best to keep them at the forefront of your mind, too. For starters he’s your boss. The boss who brought you up from intern to right-hand-woman over the course of your time at the theater company. He’d given you your first opportunities, coached you through your first failures. He’d seen you at your worst and cheered for you at your best, but the ebbs and flows of your emotional journey could not obscure the fact that the truth remains the same. Charlie is your boss.

There’s the age difference of ten years and, of course, his son Henry who is now almost as old as that age gap. And the fact that you try your best to avoid – his divorce. You’d met him right in the aftermath. Met the Charlie who was more rubble than man, grieving a marriage that had long died and missing a son on the other side of the country. He’d been a professional, of course, not openly showing his wounds to members of the company when he had finally returned for his next production. However you, the intern required to stay late and pick up things and answer phone calls – you were privy to slightly more intimate displays of vulnerability. Not that you let Charlie know. No, you got really good at silently backing out of doorways when you heard the side of a heated phone call that you shouldn’t or an errant sob that was meant for an empty room.

Over the years, things got better for Charlie, and you were there to witness it. But it never eclipsed the fact that he had been married. He comes with a child and the phantom appendage of whole other life, one that makes you feel younger than you are by comparison.

No, you shouldn’t want Charlie Barber.

But that fact doesn’t keep you from wanting him. And as you tidy up the little desk set up in front of the stage, stacking Charlie’s notes and making a list for what must be accomplished the following day, you can’t help but smile to yourself when you find a scribbled note he’s left for you. Scrawled in his messy but unmistakable handwriting is a request for you to come to his office once you’re done with your nightly close up routine. You throw the last crumpled paper in the waste bin and make your way out of the house, grabbing your bag in the process.

You find Charlie in a familiar tableau when you open the door to his office – he is pensive behind his reading glasses and motionless as he reads from a clipboard. He is illuminated only by his desk lamp, a preference you’ve had to hear him rant about many times whenever someone suggests turning on the overhead light and he is moved to lament about the creativity-zapping powers of fluorescent bulbs. You lean against the doorframe and watch him fondly for a moment, savoring the chance to watch him without his guard up, running a hand absentmindedly through his waves. You imagine your hand replacing his, feeling the silky strands, pushing them out of his face, tucking them behind his ears, pulling them as you –

“Ah, you’re here!” Charlie yanks you at of your reverie much like you were yanking on his hair in your momentary fantasy. You clear your throat and enter the room properly.

“Yes, there was something you wanted to speak about?”

“Yeah, Nadine said she isn’t feeling well, so we’ll need to have Melody step up and stand in.” Charlie checks his clipboard as he tells you this and you’re quick to grab your small notebook to jot down the information. “I’m pretty sure Nadine will be fine by the time we open, so don’t get Melody’s hopes up too much, but could you please let her know that she’ll be expected to be off book just in case.”

“Of course, not taking any chances after the stuff we went through with Jared,” you say rolling your eyes.

“My thoughts exactly.” Charlie seems pleased you’re on the same page. But then again of course you are. The two of you are a well-oiled machine at this point. You smile and start to turn toward the exit but then remember the small Tupperware container in your bag. Pulling it out you place it gently on the edge of Charlie’s desk.

“I had extra lasagna and I’m running low on freezer space, so I thought I’d bring you some.”

This is part of your well-choreographed dance of discretion. In the early days of his singlehood, Charlie, in a moment of weakness fueled by a friendly beer at the end of a grueling late-night tech rehearsal, had confessed his occasional inability to bring himself to make full meals now that his son is gone. You’d agonized over the image of him standing by his sink eating slapdash baloney sandwiches or lukewarm tv dinners, so you began making extra helpings of your dinner and bringing them in once a week, usually with some half-baked excuse about accidentally doubling a recipe or running out of freezer space or suddenly realizing a brand new (totally fictitious) aversion to chicken. Charlie would play along but the sincerity behind his smile each time he accepted the plastic container from your hand gave you a thrill that could only be matched by the experience of receiving the empty and cleaned Tupperware back the next day along with raving compliments from Charlie about your cooking.

This time, however, upon looking at the little dish of lasagna Charlie sighs and takes off his reading glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He stares at you for a moment as if he’s trying to read your face. Something in his own face changes after a few seconds. He looks resolute. As if he’s made a decision that’s been a long time in coming.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“You’re exaggerating. I just had extra - ”

“No.” Charlie cuts you off, standing and moving around his desk to lean back against the front of it, hands in the pockets of his khakis. “You’re too good to me. It’s a fact. The only thing I want to know is, why?”

“You’re being silly, Charlie.”

“Am I? You keep me fed, you catch my mistakes. You call me at night sometimes to make sure I’m going to sleep, for crying out loud.”

“You’re making me sound like your mother,” you say, rolling your eyes. “And besides, that was only one time, and it was because you’d downed eight coffees and I knew you were going to be up all night stressing about Previews.”

Charlie pulls a hand out of his pocket and points a finger at you like he’s caught you in something.

“See it’s that extra mile. You give a shit about me, you really give a shit about me.”

“I mean yeah. I care about you, Charlie.” You shift where you stand by the door, not sure where this is going. Charlie’s eyes narrow again as he fixes you with another dissecting stare. You wonder what he’s looking for. You wonder if he’s finding what he wants. His gaze moves down to the floor and he rubs his chin thoughtfully with his index finger before looking back into your eyes.

“I’d like to try something, if you’re okay with it,” he says simply.

“What -”

Charlie steps away from his desk and claps his hands.

“Okay, could you put your bag down and could I see you by the desk. Maybe sitting on it?” He gestures to the desk with his open hand and stares into space over the floor as if seeing an imaginary diagram. You smile to yourself, recognizing these actions from when he works out blocking with his actors. You decide to humor him, placing your bag down in the seat by the door and walking over to the desk. You’re wearing one of your shorter skirts today, having lost the battle of propriety with yourself in the mirror this morning and opting for a racier option. When you hoist yourself up on the edge of the desk, you cross one leg over the other and smooth down your skirt, immediately aware of the expanses of skin now exposed on your thighs.

Charlie moves forward, stopping a few feet away from you. His hands, those big, beautiful, dinner-plate hands flex, opening and closing into fists as he seems to war with himself about something. You wonder what it is. You wonder if he’s winning.

“Now I’m going to try this out, and you do what feels right. Whatever that is.” Charlie begins the statement looking down but at the end he’s looking you square in the eye and it’s enough to melt you into the liquid form you always envy of his coffee. You squeeze your legs together a little tighter and swallow to moisten your throat which has gone dry because certainly this must be a dream. Certainly this has to be one of your many, many fantasies in which Charlie Barber fucks you over a desk or over a chair in the front row with the house lights on. You nod slowly, maintaining eye contact.

Charlie steps forward then. His hands reach out and you wait for them to make contact with your body but they never do. Instead they land on the desk on either side of you, but then Charlie is close. Closer than he’s ever been, warmth emanating from his plaid-shirt-clad body. The proximity makes the reality of your height difference much more glaring, exacerbated by your seated position. You crane your neck to look up and you find that he is staring back down at you intently, eyes trained on your lips. You lick them reflexively.

He leans down much too slowly for your liking and a voice in your head reminds you that you shouldn’t want Charlie Barber. But the wetness gathering between your legs and the quickened beat of your heart and the sharpness of your inhale all say something different and you’re nothing if not democratic with your body. The aye’s have it in this quorum of biological opinion and suddenly you’re grabbing Charlie by his shirt, pulling him down to you and placing your lips squarely on his.

While he’s surprised at first by your aggression, the man catches up quick, kissing you back greedily and pulling your legs apart by the knees so he can step between them. It’s everything you ever hoped it would be, late at night when you touched yourself and felt silly for moaning his name into the empty darkness. But you feel anything but silly as his tongue enters your mouth and his hands find their place at your waist.

When it becomes apparent that kissing each other is not enough to supply oxygen to your brains you break apart, staying only centimeters apart. Your pants mix between you and you feel almost cross-eyed from staring at him while he’s so close but you don’t care. You have to look at him. To see how he’s reacting, what he’s thinking.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that for forever.” His first words make you laugh breathlessly.

“Me too.”

“No, I mean I really wanted that.” Charlie’s clarification feels like a challenge somehow and before you can even think you are trying to one up him and you blurt out:

“I touch myself every night thinking about it.”

Fuck.

Charlie freezes in your arms, jaw hanging slack just slightly. Your breath catches in your chest and you’re kicking yourself. Kicking yourself for taking the longest slow burn of your life and ruining it in .02 seconds because you can’t think before you speak.

You bite your lip nervously and look down, but in doing so you see the place where your thighs wrap around Charlie. You’re about to say something, about to pull away when suddenly Charlie has your bottom lip between his thumb and index finger and he’s pulling it gently from between your teeth. You look up at him, as he continues to hold onto your lip, thumb lightly caressing side to side.

“You know I always saw you as this angelic, off-limits creature,” he says, eyes on your lip and the motion of his own finger against it. Fixated. You love the attention, love the feeling of all of his focus. You crave more.

So you part your lips and take his thumb into your mouth, sucking lightly on the digit. Just like that. Charlie spasms in response, hips bucking involuntarily into you immediately. He regains his composure with a steadying hand on your right hip and chuckles.

“I was going to say that it turns out you’re more of a bad girl than I’d initially thought.” His eyes darken as you swirl your tongue around his thumb. “I thank you for proving my point.” 

You let go of his thumb with a faint popping sound. You’ve gone this far. At this point all bets are off. The ship has sailed on getting out of this situation unaffected and unscathed, and as your body parts unanimously demand, you need Charlie and you need him now. Might as well go all in.

“I like to – what was it you said – go the extra mile.” You look up at him through your eyelashes and bring your hands to slide down his chest. His stomach is a little soft when you reach it and you have to suppress the overwhelming urge to reach out and bite him there. Instead you move further down and begin to work on unbuckling his belt.

Charlie’s grin splits his face and you want to bask in it. He lets you pull the belt out of the beltloop and undo the top button of his pants. But when you move to reach in through the open zipper, he grabs your wrist. Holding it he yanks you forward into another searing kiss, his other hand reaching back around to grab a full handful of your ass and effectively pull your lower body more firmly into his.

“You’re forgetting something, sweetheart,” he says before moving his mouth to suck at the place where your shoulder meets your neck. You gasp at the sensation and plunge your fingers into his hair, immediately yanking at the soft strands the way you’d imagined a million times. The way you’d imagined not ten minutes ago in his doorway.

“What…oh god. What am I forgetting?” Your words come out breathy but you couldn’t care less with his teeth scraping your skin and tongue soothing the worried flesh.

Charlie pushes you back down against the desk then roughly. With your back on the smooth wooden surface he leans down, letting his hands start at your waist and smooth up and over the peaks and valleys of your body, squeezing at your breasts on the way to your throat, which he holds gently. His body covers you and he cheek presses against yours as he whispers in your ear.

“I’m the boss.”

A shiver runs down your spine and your hands tighten in his hair.

“Yes....sir.”

That gets an immediate reaction out of Charlie and he practically growls into your mouth before claiming it once more. As the kiss turns sloppy – all tongue and teeth and sucking – you feel something hard nudge your leg urgently. You reach down and are pleased to learn your suspicions are correct. Number 1, Charlie is definitely hard. And number 2, he is an absolute monster.

You must hum your approval out loud because Charlie chuckles into your mouth. He pulls away just far enough to speak, his lips touching yours with each word.

“Do you feel what you’re doing to me?” His enormous hand covers yours and squeezes, making you both inhale sharply. He moves your hand up and down his length so you get a feel for how huge he really is. You are overwhelmed with the sudden need to see him which leads you to push him so you can sit up, pulling far enough away to watch as you pull his cock from his boxers.

He’s beautiful, jutting proudly out toward you with the slightest curve that has your cunt pulsing with anticipation of how it might be able to rub you in all the right ways. The shaft is flushed all the way up to the fleshy head where you see a few drops of precum pooling delectably. You drag your forefinger in it, gathering up the wetness. Maintaining eye contact with Charlie the whole time, you bring it up to your mouth and kitten lick the slick off your finger.

Charlie’s eyes seem slightly out of focus as watches you. He takes his cock in hand, stroking it slowly as his other hand slides from your hip to the inside of your thighs. He wrenches the fabric of your skirt so that it bunches up around your hips, with you giving a little hop to make the motion easier. His hand finds it’s way back between your legs, pulling aside your panties to dip into your heat below.

“Are you always this wet this fast?” he practically groans. His finger finds your clit almost immediately, spreading your wetness around the little nub.

“Every time I think of you…sir.” You add the title as an after thought but it has the desired effect. Charlie’s mouth sets in a hard line and his fist moves faster on his cock.

“Fuck, you think of me as you touch this perfect little cunt?”

“Yes.”

“You imagine it’s me touching you. Filling you up, making you feel good?”

“Yes, yes – fuck!” Charlie slides a finger into you and you grab his arms to steady yourself.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it,” Charlie practically coos. He’s left his cock to bob eagerly against his stomach now, moving the hand that had been stroking it to work at the buttons of your shirt. “We’ve got to make sure you’re nice and ready to take me.”

You thrust your hips to meet his hand as his fingers – two now – move in and out of your folds. You’re starting to feel the pressure building already.

“Mmm yes. Ready for your big cock.”

“Exactly. Don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.” Charlie moans when you reach between you and begin stroking his cock yourself. You’re happy to hear him moan. It makes you feel better about teetering already, as you are, on the brink of incoherence. Charlie’s hand pulls your left breast out from the cup of your now exposed bra and squeezes roughly, adding to the overall pleasure.

“I want your big cock.”

“Yeah you want it?”

“Yes. I want it.”

“Oh yes, I think you want it. You’re positively dripping for me and you’re taking my fingers so well.” Charlie interrupts himself to kiss you feverishly on your forehead, on your cheekbone, moving down till he’s kissing the corner of your mouth. He’s bucking into your hand and you’re gyrating on his at this point and you’re too impatient.

You shouldn’t want Charlie Barber but you do. And you want him now.

“Charlie.” You say his name urgently, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead he places searing kisses to your lips. You whimper as you call his name again. “Charlie pleeease.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me!”

“Please fuck me, what?”

“Please fuck me, SIR.”

With a speed you didn’t know was humanly possible you suddenly find yourself flipped around. Your breasts, one still jutting out of its bra cup, press against the wood of the desk, and your ass sticks out in the air. Charlie pulls your skirt up around your hips and pulls your panties down all the way. Out of your line of vision he pockets the scrap of black lace before bending down and spreading your cheeks to stare at your soaking slit.

“Charlie, I need it!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He swirls your slick around, taking it and spreading it all over the shaft of his cock. You wiggle your ass a bit for his attention and he lands a light slap to your right cheek.

“You beautiful, eager little thing. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” There’s humor in his voice though you can’t see his face.

“You should fuck me!” you cry out with a huff, impatient about having to wait this long.

“With pleasure.”

Charlie’s cock plunges into your core then and you let out a cry of pleasure-pain. He’s big. He’s far too big. Bigger than any cock you’ve had before, and even though he’d worked slightly to prep you, you still feel full to bursting. And you love it.

He takes a moment for you to adjust before he pulls out roughly only to thrust the entirety of his cock back in to the hilt.

“Oh fuck!” It comes out of you as a whimper.

“You’re so tight. Ohh but so wet for me – god. This cunt is amazing.” He finds a steady pace eventually and you find yourself pushing back. Waiting for the slap of his balls against the back of your thighs. Feeling your sopping heat tighten around him on his way out, trying desperately to hold him in. To stay filled with his perfect thickness.

“Tell me.”

“W-what?” You choke back, heated cheek sliding repeatedly against the cool wood of the desk with each of his powerful thrusts.

“Tell me what you imagine when you think of me. When you touch yourself.”

You moan loudly in response because that’s not fair. You’re barely coherent. You can’t possibly string together sentences. You fully intend not to respond when suddenly he delivers a light slap to your right ass cheek. More playful than forceful but you cry out in surprise.

“I want to hear it. When you’re alone at night and your moves under those lacy panties what do you – oh shit – what do you think about?”

“I…” A hiccup of pleasure interrupts you and you grip at the edge of the table. “I think of this. Of us having a meeting and you pushing me down. Fucking – fuck! Fucking me over your desk.”

Charlie hums in response, picking up speed. You like the sound, vibrating out of his chest, so you find the wherewithal to keep going.

“Sometimes I think of crawling between your legs. When you sit in the back of the theater during tech – oh god! Tech rehearsals when the house lights are off. Swallowing your cock and making you cum down my throat as everyone performs on stage.”

“Shit!” Charlie’s hips stutter at the thought. One of his hands grips harder at your hip, certain to leave a bruise, while the other snakes around you and begins playing at your clit. You moan and gyrate at the feeing as it builds builds builds.

“Oh oh…Charlie I’m gonna cum.”

“So desperate she already wants to cum,” Charlie says, though you can tell by the way he’s losing rhythm in his thrusts that he’s not far behind.

“I’m gonna cum!” You repeat and Charlie picks up speed on your clit.

“Cum, sweetheart. Go ahead and do it.”

You scream as it hits you, your body curling into itself on the desk as the wave of pleasure crashes upon you. Your abdominal muscles spasm over and over as you gush all over Charlie’s cock which continues pounding in and out of you through the orgasm.

Charlie follows a few moments later, letting out a growling moan and bowing into you, getting a few last sputtering thrusts in as his cum paints your inner walls. You two catch your breath where you lay, a tangled mess of half-clothed, sweaty, beautifully sated bodies. Charlie nudges your face to the side with his chin after a few moments so he can lavish kisses on your cheek and jaw. You smile, too spent to even open your eyes.

Yes, you shouldn’t want Charlie.

But you still do.

~*~


End file.
